The Masked Man stood before the group of twenty-some newly-assembled soldiers, those selected to join the Simulacrum's upper ranks. At one point, they'd all been simple colonists, fighting to protect their home. But, through hard work, skill, and devotion, they had risen through the ranks, all the way to this point.

Rowan doubted many of them would stay past initiation. The Simulacrum recruited many, but kept very few. Only the most essential would make it to the inner ranks.

“A bunch of hutch-bunnies,” Daimen grunted. “All of them.”

“Says the glip of a grasher. You're lucky to even be in First Company with your temperament.”

The Masked Man spoke before their bout could continue. His voice was deep and heavily synthesized through a vocoder.

*Welcome all. You are gathered here because you have shown promise. Promise that will ignite change throughout the galaxy. Until now, Ouroboros has been aiding your colonies in their fights for liberation from the Solar Union, helping you to grow and prosper in your own right. But these charities cannot go unpaid. You have been selected to repay your colonies’ debts to the Simulacrum, and to join our circle of trust.*

The Masked Man pressed a button on his pedestal, and the bay doors behind him began to open, revealing rows upon rows of mobile frames -- Prisms and Monks fresh from the factory, ready to be piloted by fresh hands.

*Those of you who seek to honor your colonies, mount up! Trial by combat will prove your worth to Ouroboros!*

Eager recruits rushed to their new frames. They were only vaguely familiar with the selection process, only knowing what failed recruits and the Masked Man had told them. Rowan knew the full story.

“There they go,” Ashia smirked, “off to their collective dooms.”

“Honestly,” Daimen shook his head. “The Captain shouldn't even be in the drawing if you ask me.”

“I think you're just mad it isn't you who gets to fight 'em.”

“Maybe. But she ain't a fair fight for any of those rookies. Almost feel sorry.”

“Let's hope she knows how to hold back against the rookies.” Ashia sighed. “Then again, they don't call her a demon for nothing.”

A clash of metal sounded from the training arena. The mock battle had started. The demon was loose. The combatants were fighting with paint guns and blunted blades, but the carnage was audible as Captain Morrows tore through her opposition. After only ten minutes, all sounds of gunfire ceased, and a single red frame strode through the hangar bay door, dragging two beaten and paint-spattered Prisms behind it.

Captain Morrows’ frame -- a Prism Crown known reverently as the BladeFiend -- dropped the frames it was dragging and knelt as the forward hatch opened and the Captain leapt nimbly to the ground.

“These ones are worth keeping,” she jabbed her thumb at the two disgruntled pilots slowly exiting their damaged frames. “They stuck it out ‘till the end, even had it tactic’d so when I tried to nab one of 'em, the other'd fire on my blind spot. There's another one out there, biiiiiiig blue paint mark over his monoeye.” The captain chuckled. “Poor grasher got knocked down to nothing after a minute, so he decided to glom onto my frame. I almost got hit trying to knock him off. He's got spirit, if not brains.”

The Masked Man nodded. *I will deal with the survivors. Inform the rest that they are still of use to their home colonies. Have them shipped back once they've recuperated.* He turned to the pair of barely-successful pilots. *Congratulations, gentlemen. You are now a part of infinity.* With that, he turned and left the hangar, not waiting for the new pilots to follow.

“Aloof as always,” Ashia joked.

Three new pilots. Out of nearly thirty, only three made it through the trial to the Simulacrum's upper elite. Rowan grinned. To be a member of those elite was truly an honor among honors. It felt good to have been one of the first.

Somewhere, far off, close by, Ouroboros watched, waited. Growing. Shrinking. Both at once. Neither. It was all that existed and nothing but a name. It was an infinity that life could only seek to imitate, never reaching its full scope.

It was an infinity that the Masked Man hoped to achieve.

But for now, it was just a name. A Simulacrum of a Simulacrum. Something to strive for and inspire. For all he knew it wasn't even real.

And yet. A burning in the back of his mind kept calling to him, whispering its guidance in his ear, planting dreams of expansion. Maybe he was going insane -- too much sunlight, too little sunlight, I've been wearing this helmet for too long -- or maybe all the voices were real. Maybe he was receiving guidance from a higher being.

Regardless, infinity could not be reached without unity. And unity could not be reached until he had it all -- the Solar Union, the Free Colonies, even the Ijad -- in the palm of his hand. That was phase one. Don't worry about phase two yet, it will come to you, everything will fall into place, all will be one, you are all headed for infinity.

The Masked Man sat and pondered, and, whispering in his ear, watching from everywhere and nowhere, Ouroboros waited.

That is a great little story to go along with your faction. It's a good short read, but has a nice amount of depth. There is still a mystery of what we are dealing with, and how it will interact with the MFZ universe, and that is great. Really enjoyed this, looking forward to any further storyline